


paper thin hotel

by paperthinn



Series: seeley's favorites [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Domestic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Neighbors, Past Child Abuse, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:29:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperthinn/pseuds/paperthinn
Summary: "The street name was forgettable and the lane itself was a bit lonely, shadowed by rows of houses that lined the grimy sidewalks. Malfoy was a tad sarcastic, and Harry does think he could’ve been nicer himself. Regardless, there had been immediate dislike from both sides."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: seeley's favorites [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715506
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	paper thin hotel

**Author's Note:**

> this fic took about two nights - plus like an extra of procrastination in between - to write. it's about 4:30AM and i have yet to update complete and utter loathing, so i figured i'd upload this in place. it's not necessarily an enemies to lovers, more so two men who dislike each other to lovers, but oh well... this was abt 9 pages and 3.7k words long, so!!! it's also a tad fast-paced, but...
> 
> PLEASE BE AWARE THERE IS IMPLIED/REFERENCED EATING DISORDERS. It's nothing major, however it is mentioned about half-way through. Mainly talking about Harry's time going hungry in his childhood and adults fearing he's starving himself on purpose. Please be advised.
> 
> mind the notes at the bottom, please!

Harry Potter despised his neighbor. It’s not like Mr. Malfoy (who lives alone with his three cats) had done anything particularly rude. Harry just had a certain dislike for the man. Their first meeting hadn’t gone too well - Harry moved in a few years earlier. The street name was forgettable and the lane itself was a bit lonely, shadowed by rows of houses that lined the grimy sidewalks. Malfoy was a tad sarcastic, and Harry does think he could’ve been nicer himself. Regardless, there had been immediate dislike from both sides.

A certain few incidents had only caused more problems between them. For one, the other man’s cat - the black one, named Severus (Harry decided after a few moments of thought _not_ to ask about the name) - had snuck in through some open window or crevice in Harry’s house and had knocked over a can of paint. It took ages for the brunette to scrub his floors of the dark red paint, and, if you look close enough, there’s still a stain in the dark wood by the front door.

Most of their problems came from the fact that their houses were connected. The walls were quite thin, so much so that the smallest _thump_ would echo into whatever room was on the other side of the wall. Harry found that decorating (and redecorating) was quite difficult, as Malfoy seemed to appreciate peace and quiet at all times during the day. Eventually, Harry decided he was not making any progress being quiet and made quite a fair bit of noise just to get through what should not have been a time-consuming task in the first place.

Harry wasn’t the only one to be making noise, of course. He found himself in a few awkward situations when the blonde brought over _partners._ On one specific occasion, Harry yelled for quiet, heard talking through the layers of the wall, and was relieved to hear they’d continued much quieter. Malfoy brought over another partner the next night - Harry heard the name _‘Max,’_ before he threw one of his aunt’s old ugly vases at the wall and then left the house for the night. He had one hell of a mess to clean up when he returned and decided the destruction wasn’t worth it when he saw Malfoy’s proud smirk the next morning.

They only tormented each other more from that point on. There were things Harry did that _weren’t_ meant to annoy his neighbor, of course, like the ritual of humming (or singing) when he took a shower. Harry was about halfway through one of his mother’s old favorites when there was a hard slam on the wall and a yell of _“Shut the hell up!”_ from the other side of the tile. Harry found himself more annoyed then he would’ve been had he not known Malfoy had to climb into his own shower just to scold the man.

Harry had yelled back an annoyed, _“Maybe if you invested in earplugs!”_ and went right back to singing, and his vocal cords had been a bit sore later from how much effort he’d put into making sure it was as loud and obnoxious as possible. Nothing a cup of tea couldn’t fix. Harry made sure to whistle to himself as he washed the cup, too.

Malfoy was rightfully pissed off after this incident. There was a package delivered to the man’s doorstep a few days later, and Harry worked on practicing breathing exercises when Malfoy blasted music into the late hours of the night. The brunette could admit he’d barked out a laugh when a familiar song blasted through the speakers, completely sure his mother would’ve sung along to what was her favorite song if she were here with him.

This event did not stop Harry from singing in the shower, but he did continue a bit quieter, only because he’d gotten complaints from his other neighbors that the feud between the two men was affecting them too. Somehow, he’d forgotten Malfoy wasn’t the only one he lived next to.

There was one particular event Harry remembers, shortly after the music fiasco, when an older man had appeared on his doorstep. It was easy to tell he was somehow related to the sarcastic man next door and Harry found himself suspicious when he’d introduced himself as, “Lucius Malfoy, Draco’s father.” Harry wasn’t quite familiar with his neighbor’s first name, as it seemed irrelevant, but it was familiar _enough._

The older Malfoy had smiled a wicked smile, “Do you know Draco? He gave me this address when I’d asked him about a visit,” Harry shook the hand that was held out to him, knowing _Draco_ knew damn well what his own address was - _also,_ who the hell doesn’t get visits from their own father? It didn’t take much to realize Malfoy didn’t _want_ a visit. Harry would’ve given anything to have his dad see his new place, but his dad was gone - his parents were gone - and they’d been gone for a very long time.

“No, I don’t know your son. You seem to have the wrong address.” Lucius nodded, and he was out of the gloomy neighborhood not too soon after, driving off down the street in a fancy - and quite expensive - car. Harry watched him drive away, frowning to himself. He disappeared back into his house, and took it upon himself to shout to his neighbor, “Do you want to explain why _your_ dad just knocked on _my_ door?” 

There was a knock on said door a few moments later, and Harry allowed an aloof Malfoy slip past him, obviously shaken. There’s a moment of silence, and then the man opens his mouth, “I’m sorry,” He frowns, seemingly not happy with those words, “He kept bothering me over a visit and I figured, well- hoped, really, you’d send him away,” Harry’s eyebrows come together in a display of his confusion, drawing his attention to the way the Malfoy’s shaking, hands trembling despite the way he buries them into the sweater he’s wearing.

“Sit down,” Harry waves to the couch and walks away into his kitchen to make a cup of tea, not in the mood for one himself, “It must be more than that. I would have appreciated a warning,” Harry allows some of his own sarcasm (sarcasm he’d buried in the years he’d spent on Privet Drive,) to slip into his words, eyeing his neighbor where he’s sat facing away on his couch. There’s a tremble even when he’s sat there, looking around Harry’s house. Either he truly is interested in the way Harry has decorated the place or he’s distracting himself. If Harry had to take a good guess, he’d go with the latter.

“I didn’t have time for a warning, I,” Malfoy huffs out a breath, “I don’t have many good memories with my father. When he said he was on his way, I didn’t know what to do,” Harry makes his way back to Malfoy, taking in the new information and placing the cup of tea into the other man’s hands. There’s a long moment of silence where Harry really begins to take in his neighbor’s appearance, how young he looks despite being about Harry’s age.

“My parents died when I was young,” Malfoy flinches for a moment and Harry winces, “My aunt and uncle took me in, and they weren’t so great either,” The man glances up over his cup, eyebrows drawn together, eyes flicking over Harry’s body before looking away again. They’re not close, far from it. Harry has never told anyone anything about his childhood ever, too afraid of being abandoned and frightened of reliving what he’d dealt with. His childhood brought nightmares every now and then. Sometimes Harry found himself unable to eat - he’d spent so much time going hungry it was almost routine to skip out on meals.

His teachers at school used to worry - Harry would refuse to eat. There were rumors he had an eating disorder. Vernon would talk with the teachers that fussed over how thin he was. He’d say, _‘no matter how much we feed him, he never puts on weight,’_ and they would lay off. They liked him thin. He bruised easier, Harry supposed. It was just another thing for them to pick at, to make fun of, to torment him about.

In reality, the Dursley’s had never thought they did anything wrong. Dudley had done his best to apologize before Harry left, but there was so much that couldn’t be forgiven that the apology was rendered useless. Hermione and Ron - who hadn’t the slightest idea of what Harry was put through - suggested therapy to help with the trauma of unsaid events, knowing the memories hurt without understanding what said memories were. Hermione gave him an organized list great doctors. Harry didn’t go.

Petunia had packed a few of her things, having no idea Harry would have one of the worst panic attacks of his life later when he unwrapped them, and the brunette somehow couldn’t bring himself to get rid of them while decluttering and decorating. Maybe it was her connection to his mother that kept him from being so angry. Despite the years he was forced to spend under the stairs, he hoped his aunt could somehow be as nice as his mom had apparently been.

“My parents were ignorant. I had to leave. The things they forced me to do- to say,” Malfoy shudders, suddenly trembling again, chewing on his lips as to stop himself from getting sick or saying anything more. Harry now understands where his sarcasm might come from, having grown up in what seemed to be a very unloving and unaffectionate household. Harry _should_ understand. He went through some of the same things - didn’t he?

Harry leans forward and takes the cup of tea from Malfoy’s hands before he spills it, setting it on the table and leaving a soothing hand on the man’s wrist. “You don’t have to explain,” Harry squeezes reassuringly at his wrist, “You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Malfoy looks lost for a moment, trembling. Harry leans forward on instinct, dragging the man into his arms. Despite the lack of care in his childhood, he’s had plenty of friends to comfort in the past, he knows the drill, knows how to soothe someone. It drains his energy, but he’ll get it back later.

Malfoy presses his face into Harry’s neck and then he’s crying, wet eyelashes pressed to the skin on the brunette’s throat, one arm trapped by Harry’s hand on his wrist and the other pressed beside them, fingers curling in Harry’s shirt. They sit like that for a long time. Harry guesses the man needed this, a warm body to turn to for comfort. Malfoy cries into Harry’s skin until he goes completely still, asleep against the man, at peace. 

Harry doesn’t have the keys to Malfoy’s house, and so he lays the man on his couch and goes upstairs to sleep. When he finds himself treading back downstairs, Malfoy’s gone.

After what Harry likes to call the ‘Lucius Malfoy’ incident, they make up. Malfoy knocks on Harry’s door a few days later and holds out his hand, introducing himself as Draco with a surprisingly shy smile. Harry smiles back. He meets Draco’s cats - Severus, Artemis, and Loki. There are very few incidents where they bother each other, but occasionally if Harry makes a bit too much noise, he’ll hear what sounds like a heavy book hit the closest wall. 

They’ll shout at each other for a few moments, and then there’s quiet. Harry sings in the shower. Draco doesn’t seem to be too annoyed by this occurrence anymore, but sometimes Harry will hear the familiar sound of a radio from the other side of the wall - intended to block the sound out. 

There are only one or two nights that are particularly memorable from that point on, one specifically being when Draco had someone over again. He’d been gone all night - something Harry had noticed after he’d made quite the ruckus rearranging things in his bedroom. Harry had learned to ignore the sounds of grunts and moans drifting through the walls, so he wasn’t too bothered when he’d heard it begin, just sat down and accepted that he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

Harry was well into a book when there was a botched moan of a name and then yelling. He was surprised he didn’t hear the entire argument but nearly knocked his cup of tea off the table next to him when there was a very loud declaration of, _“Who the fuck is Harry?”_ and then more arguing. Harry reluctantly put his book down and made his way up the stairs, looking for some sort of quiet. He slammed his hand into the wall. There was silence, then footsteps, then the slamming of what sounded like Draco’s front door.

“Sorry!” Draco snapped and Harry heard him huff under his breath about _‘didn’t even get me off,’_ before the brunette sighs and drops any hope of making sure his neighbor is okay. The arguing could probably be heard a few houses down and had Harry a bit shaken, but he mumbles a _goodnight_ to his neighbor (doubting he could hear it) and climbs into bed.

Harry refuses to admit he hears the man on the other side of his walls getting himself off, and then pretends he simply imagined hearing Draco whimper out a desperate _‘Harry,’_ before there’s nothing but quiet because refusing to believe the truth is much better than facing it.

Harry sees Draco a few short days after that night and he looks as if nothing happened, offering a small smile to the brunette as he leaves for wherever he goes during the day. Harry nods at him, smiling back, and if he stares at Draco’s ass while he walks to his car, nobody has to know. Harry has the day to himself. He reorganizes his room again because he’s bored, not worried about the noise, and then reads the rest of his book.

Draco returns at nine - alone - and Harry runs to catch him before he enters his house. The walls are thin. He could just yell, but it’s much nicer to see Draco in person. Draco comes over and they talk for a while over tea, enjoying each other’s company. Draco stares at Harry for a long while at some point during the night, looking as if he might get sick at the thought of saying whatever he wants to say. Harry leans forward and leaves a hand on his wrist, thumb sliding over the middle of his forearm, rubbing there gently.

“What?” Harry gives him a calculating look then smiles to make himself seem a little bit less intimidating.

“It’s weird,” Draco frowns and Harry tugs at his arms, pulling him into a hug, a sigh punching from the blonde’s chest. There’s a long moment of silence where Draco simply breathes into Harry’s neck and then, “Sing to me?” and Harry laughs, quiet and genuine. He presses closer, resisting the sudden urge to pull his neighbor into his lap.

“All you had to do was ask,” Harry rests a hand on the back of Draco’s neck and squeezes there gently, “I’m sorry if it’s terrible,” Draco breathes a laugh into Harry’s throat, lips brushing his nape. Harry ignores it. His singing is off-key and terrible, but he sings anyways, and somewhere along the way, Draco falls asleep. Harry doesn’t remember ever having someone that depended on him, even a little bit. Hermione and Ron were dependant on each other and on their other friends. Hermione had her parents and Ron had all his siblings, too. Molly was like another mother for a long time, Harry supposes, but it wasn’t enough.

He remembers what it was like when Molly saw the bruises for the first time - what it was like when she’d seen just how thin he actually was; she’d begged him to tell her what was happening with the Dursley’s on Privet Drive. Harry had reassured her he was fine, knowing he wasn’t, but not knowing what they were doing was completely wrong. Hadn’t they said he deserved it? He was a freak - different from Dudley and all his friends. Petunia never liked Lily, she never liked James, she never liked Harry. 

Petunia was mean, but Vernon was downright cruel. He’d beat Harry, and while Petunia would look the other way, she’d always willingly patch him up after. There was only once she’d been kind to him. Harry doesn’t remember it. 

Draco curls up into Harry’s lap and Harry falls asleep there, on the couch, with his sarcastic neighbor in his lap. He wakes up the next morning and his back and legs ache - he’s used to aches and pains; it’s not a big deal - but Draco isn’t there. He’d left a note there, saying he had to go run errands. Harry tries not to feel disappointed. Breakfast would’ve been nice, and Harry was a great cook. He promises himself he’ll invite Draco over one morning.

Every now and then, Draco will come over to Harry’s and sit with him as he reorganizes and declutters things, room by room. There are still a few things left to unpack, but his bookshelves were taking up a lot of time now. Books were one of the few things he was allowed to have of his own when he was younger. Everything else - the furniture and such - were put away for him by his parents. 

Draco sat on the floor at Harry’s feet as he sorted through all of his books. He sat on the counter once or twice a week as Harry made lunch. He’d sit with Harry on the couch at night. Harry started lighting a fire in the fireplace every night just in case Draco came over. He’d sing to the man, and Draco would get tired before he’d say goodnight and go back over to his own place. It was nice having someone else around the house.

There was one night where Draco was exhausted after being out all day but insisted on being awake enough to sit with Harry. He’d fallen asleep after a few minutes in front of the fire with his legs stretched out over Harry’s lap. Harry squeezed at his knee, massaging his calf through his jeans. A sigh slipped through the brunette’s lips, knowing how determined the blonde had been to spend time with his neighbor.

Harry clicked off the lamps and allowed the fire to burn out before going to bed. Draco stayed for breakfast the next morning, hair untamed and eyes tired. Harry laid a hand on his shoulder as he entered the kitchen and Draco leaned into it, lips curling in a tired smile at the other man. Harry decided he liked the domestic feel of it.

Draco’s cats found their way into Harry’s house every now and then. He only saw timid Loki once, but Artemis and Severus shared a similar trait of being curious. Draco was a bit awkward the first time he’d come to get Artemis from Harry, flashing a shy smile before heading out the door, tabby cat in his arms. Severus - _Sev,_ as Draco called him - was a bit harder to spot as he loved to hide in the gaps between Harry’s books, among the shelves. He’d be covered in dust most times, having ventured into the smallest crevices of Harry’s living room before deciding he’d like to go back home with his rightful owner.

Harry’s only guess as to why they were so comfortable with him was his smell, as it was common to find Draco smelling like him even days after he’d been over. It was nice. Harry had commented on it once; Draco had flushed red and then a nervous laugh slipped from him and he’d later mentioned he liked smelling like Harry. Harry laughed at his embarrassment. Draco had left with one of Harry’s favorite jackets.

Hermione and Ron visited on a Thursday. Draco was busy, which gave Harry time with his old friends. Hermione asked Harry if there was someone new in his life as if she knew he had a new friend, and Harry had asked her why. There was an extra scarf on his coat rack, another pair of shoes by the door. Harry didn’t realize Draco had left his own mark in his house, but he didn’t do anything about it. There was cat hair everywhere on his bookshelves, over the back of his couch.

Draco spent the night again later that same week. He was wearing Harry’s jacket - a black one, too big for the both of them but bigger on Draco than it was on Harry. They sat on the couch and Draco laid his head on Harry’s shoulder, tired now that he was warm next to his friend. Harry decided to get a bottle of wine out.

After a few glasses, Draco had laughed nervously and then leaned forward to kiss Harry, tasting like alcohol and something sweeter. Harry kissed him back, just a tad bit less drunk, placing a hand on the back of Draco’s neck and squeezing gently. They slept on the couch together, Draco laid on top of Harry with his face buried into the brunette’s throat. 

Things didn’t change much after the kiss. Harry didn’t even realize it was like they’d been dating already. Draco shyly kissed Harry sometimes, relaxing once Harry returned it, and that was the only addition to their relationship. It was solid, so easy that it didn’t even seem to be happening in the first place. The dislike they’d had didn’t seem real. It seemed like they’d been together from the start, although they hadn’t. 

Draco was curled up into Harry’s side when he’d asked, _“Are we boyfriends?”_ and Harry flushed red before responding with a definite _yes._ Draco had smiled wide, cheeks and ears red, eyes clouded with so much happiness and affection Harry swears he should - _could_ \- be blind with it. Harry kisses Draco, and they sleep in Harry’s bed that night, comfortable.

Harry’s sure if Lucius Malfoy returned and asked him if he knew Draco, he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Draco practically lives in Harry’s house despite being just next door, so when he brings up moving in officially, they don’t hesitate. Draco drops a box while trying not to trip over Severus, and Harry laughs an, _“I love you.”_

And it’s completely, utterly true.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> my socials -
> 
> twitter; hotchnersmind, boomerrjoseph  
> insta; lonelydxnce
> 
> please stay safe and practice social distancing! might as well leave a comment as well since we're all stuck inside for another few months :) i love you!


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